


How and Why

by GretchenSinister



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Background Poly, Begging, M/M, Mild Painplay, Multi, background OT8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-18 06:43:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21590215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GretchenSinister/pseuds/GretchenSinister
Summary: Original Prompt: "Wanting a top!Jack fic due to recent addiction to the song: For Your Entertainment by Adam Lambert.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kHYb3GRgSWI <-song with lyrics for referenceIn my opinion it fits Jack very well. He seems a simple and fun,if lost spirit for awhile. But everyone is layered. Others on here have noted there’s a dark side of him. This is part of it for me.Fully consensual is preferred, but it can be dub con if that’s how it falls."Pitch’s seduction doesn’t go as planned, but honestly it ends up going better. This is all Pitch and Jack, but there’s hints of OT8 because fuck the police!Lol it’s 4 am and I didn’t read this over. Sorry for any errors.Also BTW there’s a bit of pain kink here.
Relationships: Jack Frost/Pitch Black
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31
Collections: Blackice Short Fics, RotG Polyamory Fics





	How and Why

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr on 1/4/2014.

“I know what you’ve done, Jack,” Pitch whispers in his ear. “You’re darker than you dare to face. How many people—how many _children_ —have frozen to death over the past three hundred years?”  
  
Jack doesn’t respond, and Pitch, utterly focused on his own words, on the way he’s tickling Jack’s ear with his hot breath, doesn’t see Jack start to smile.  
  
“You don’t face the darkness within yourself because you think the Guardians would reject you for it.” Pitch laughs a little, and Jack’s smile widens to a grin, his teeth glinting in the faint light of Pitch’s lair. “They wouldn’t. They all know already, Jack. That’s why they wanted you. That’s why they want you still. Oh, they _love_ the darkness, Jack. They love to shine their light on it, to burn it with their brightness, to make it beg. You would’ve always been begging to be accepted, wouldn’t you? They’d’ve loved you _forever_.” Pitch lets his lips brush up against Jack’s ear as he continues speaking. “But I’m ruining you, Jack. With just words, now. But later…”  
  
Jack bites his lip to keep from laughing.  
  
“I want to make you aware of your darkness, Jack. Of course, when darkness becomes self-aware, when it doesn’t want to beg anymore, they reject it. But don’t worry, Jack, you won’t be alone when this happens. Oh, Jack, let me show you just how shaded you are. I think you’ll find that”—he nips Jack’s ear—“you’re even darker than me.”  
  
And now Jack does laugh, as he turns and grasps Pitch’s wrists. “Maybe I am,” he says, leaning close to Pitch’s face. His breath smells like the first pure cold herald of winter, and Pitch shivers involuntarily. “But maybe I already knew that. And despite it all, I still manage to also be blindingly bright.” He pulls Pitch down so he can whisper in his ear now. “And you were right about us light ones. We love the darkness. We love to make it beg. And I think you’re lying when you say you don’t want to beg anymore.”  
  
“Why do you think that?” Pitch says, and wishes he could unsay it, the rasp in his voice revealing how his throat has suddenly gone dry.  
  
Jack laughs again, a sound like icicles falling off eaves and breaking on the ground. He repeats the words Pitch said to him not so long ago: “‘It’s the one thing I always know.’ But my center’s not fear, now is it?”  
  
“You can’t,” Pitch says.  
  
“Maybe I’m fibbing about where I’m getting my information from,” Jack admits with a smile, beginning to trace circles on the insides of Pitch’s wrists, making his fingers twitch. “But no one ever told me in so many _words_ the things I know.”  
  
Pitch is sure at least part of his blush at this last comment comes from an anger he doesn’t wish to examine, but it hardly matters at the moment. Jack leaps up, plants a swift kiss on his lips, and sweeps his legs out from under him.  
  
As soon as he’s landed, Jack squats upon his chest as if he’s the nightmare, still holding his wrists, a considering look on his face. “Am I going to have to restrain you?” he asks. “I don’t want to.”  
  
“You’re going to have to,” Pitch responds. “I can’t not fight back.”  
  
“You’re not fighting back now,” Jack points out.  
  
“Well.” Pitch glances towards his wrists. “I’m restrained.”  
  
Enlightenment dawns on Jack’s face and when he removes his hands from Pitch’s wrists, cuffs of ice attached to long, delicate looking chains hold him to the floor. “They won’t warm to your body like gold, sorry,” he says, straddling Pitch’s waist now. “But you know how to remedy that.”  
  
Pitch growls at him, but Jack only leans down to give him another kiss. When he sits back up, Pitch glares at him as he licks his lips. “I can do something different, if you like,” Jack says. “Feather-light kisses, feather-light touches.”  
  
“Whatever you’re going to do, get on with it,” Pitch hisses.  
  
“You’re lucky I’m young and impatient,” Jack says with a laugh. He rolls off Pitch and kneels next to him. “Now, you’ll have to excuse me, if I’m a little unfamiliar in getting familiar with you.” He grabs a handful of Pitch’s robe and begins to tear off pieces of shadow. “So you’ll have to react to what I’m doing.”  
  
“And if I don’t?”   
  
“Then I’ll stop, and go where I can have light mild as Spring sunshine dig away at my darkness. And I’ll leave you here alone.” By now, Pitch’s robe is gone, and Jack rests his hand at his hip so he’s touching both leggings and skin.  
  
“I understand,” Pitch says through gritted teeth.   
  
“Oh, good,” Jack replies, and begins getting familiar, unfamiliarly. Pitch feels dozens of swift, light kisses at his throat, before being surprised by a bite that makes him cry out, and Jack laugh—of course the laugh. Always the laugh, even as he sucks bruises onto Pitch’s collarbones and presses them with a cool, wicked tongue, even as he rakes his fingernails too hard (just hard enough) down the inside of one forearm, other hand resting on his still-clothed cock, feeling the bulge grow. Even as he pinches his nipples, hard, and firmly strokes him. Pitch couldn’t hide the sound he made then even if he wanted to, sharp peak of pain at the onset followed by a deep groan.  
  
“It’s not just good because I’m touching your cock, is it?” Jack asks, though it’s clear he doesn’t expect an answer. “You _like_ the pain.”  
  
“Guess or _knowledge_?” Pitch can’t quite manage scornful in this state, though he tries.  
  
Jack laughs. “So I could have known it in advance?”  
  
Pitch doesn’t have time to be embarrassed that he’s given something else away, for at that moment, Jack starts to pull away his shadow leggings. “Don’t worry,” Jack says. “I’m still going to make you beg.”  
  
And though Pitch began resolute, that resolution wavers as Jack’s exploration of him continues, with every touch of cool hands and lips and tongue, with every point marked with his fingernails and perfect white teeth. And that laugh, that laugh. He’s bold as he bites, now. Bold as he scratches. He’s delighted with every whimper he draws from Pitch, with the way he can top the slow-burn bruise of a hickey with a nearby pinch. Pitch is sure his inner thighs will be nothing but a mass of purple when he next looks, and his cock is already leaking precome.   
  
Jack pauses for a moment and looks down at him. “I was begging when I was like this,” he says casually, stripping with the same nonchalance. He stands above Pitch, pale and slender, and Pitch thinks he almost glows in the darkness, almost like—  
  
“What do you want me to do with this?” Jack asks, smirking, gesturing at his cock with one hand as he strokes himself to hardness with the other. “You know you’re getting me going pretty fast tonight, all those violet bruises blooming on your gray skin. And me the one that put them all there.” His smile relaxes as he rubs his thumb around the head of his cock. “You’ve got to tell me what you want me to do, Pitch. Do you want me to stand here and jerk off above you? I’d take my time. You’d get a good show. Do you want me to rut against you as I dig my fingers into your fresh bruises, leave more scratches? Yeah, rut against you,” Jack says, giving his cock a few more firm strokes. “Against your stomach, feel your cock on my own. Maybe you’d come too easy that way. Between your ass cheeks, that’d be nice. Want to flip you over, then. You wouldn’t mind crossing your arms, would you? Or then again…” he pauses, and Pitch knows what he’s pausing for.   
  
He’s pausing because he knows that while Pitch would like any of the things he’s said he could do, he really wants something else. And he wants to make him ask. And beg.   
  
Pitch tells himself that asking once is not begging. “I want you to fuck me.”  
  
“What was that?”  
  
Asking twice is not begging. “What I want you to do with your cock is to fuck me.”  
  
Jack kneels down and pushes Pitch’s legs apart. He reaches into the pockets of his discarded clothes and pulls out a small tube of lubricant. He puts a little on his fingers and touches them to Pitch’s entrance. “Tell me why, Pitch. Tell me how. Or I won’t do it.”  
  
It still isn’t begging. “I want you to fuck me hard, Jack. Fuck me like you bit me—ah!” Jack pushes one fingertip inside. “Fuck me like you scratched me. Fuck me like you pinched me.” He begins to pant as Jack adds another finger and starts to move them slowly in and out. “Fuck me like—ooohhhhh—like I know they fucked you.” He manages to make eye contact with Jack as he says this last, but Jack only smiles as he scissors his fingers.  
  
“That’s a tall order,” he says. “How about you tell me why you want to be fucked like that?” He moves the head of his cock just against Pitch’s now-relaxed opening, his fingers brushing against it as he adds more lube to his member.  
  
Is it begging? Or is it explaining? “Because you’ve aroused me beyond my better judgment.”   
  
“No,” Jack says, and doesn’t move, a shining statue in the cave.  
  
“Because I’m bored. Curious. Lonely.”  
  
“No,” Jack says. “Come on, Pitch. I know you like talking. You talked to me earlier.”  
  
“Because you’re beautiful and vicious.”   
  
“Incomplete,” Jack says, but pushes the head of his cock inside Pitch. Pitch makes a small noise in his throat. It feels good, but it’s also been a long time. He’s going to hurt later if he gets what he asked for. The thought makes his cock throb.  
  
“Because”—it’s not begging, it’s explaining—“I love it. Light may love darkness but darkness loves it right back. Or at least I—ah—I do.” Jack presses further in. “Love being at your mercy. But not just you, you know. All of you. Hhanh! Because it’s not good that you want to do this to me, and it’s not good that I want the same thing. Because we do it anyway. Ah! Move Jack, please”—and maybe that was begging, but he doesn’t care anymore. He’s said too much already and Jack’s cock is in him, sweet laughing Jack who likes to hurt him—“OH!”  
  
“Keep talking or I’ll stop,” Jack says.  
  
“Because I missed this. Because I almost begged to have our battle end this way, but they wanted the darkness in you first. Because—because—because—I can tell how they’re loving you, little changes—because I want to see how you’re changing them—because this is the only way I can—because I want to know how it’s like with you, though maybe you’re different with them, with each. But now I can imagine your cool skin under huge rough warm hands I’ve felt too. You finally feeling that softest gray fur all over your body. You and the feather-light touches, the feather-light kisses that have driven me mad for hours. You yielding under the soft strength that must have left you reeling. You reacting to the words of a storyteller.   
  
“And—oh, please more, please—because I can see you now with him. That boy of light. You remind me of him, I miss him and now I’ll imagine—”  
  
Jack’s laugh again. A quickened pace. “Maybe you won’t need to imagine.” He wraps a hand around Pitch’s cock and begins to stroke. “We’ve missed you too,” he whispers.  
  


* * *

  
  
When Pitch awakens, he’s not in his lair anymore. He aches when he stretches, but when he thinks how it’s only going to get worse, he smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Tags and Comments from Tumblr:
> 
> #this is getting out of hand
> 
> tejoxys said: wHAT YOU DID THE THING. The thing with Pitch talking on command, and you made it blackice. *flail* And pain kink. And Jack’s center giving him an advantage - idk WHY people don’t use that more. This is so awesome! <33
> 
> random-sedan reblogged this from gretchensinister and added:  
> FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUCK 8D <3 Rambling Pitch just. Wow. #UNF
> 
> whentheoceanmetsky reblogged this from gretchensinister and added:  
> YES THIS IS WHAT IM HERE FOR #I DON'T HATE BLACKICE BUT CONTEXT IS EVERYTHING AND OH WHAT A CONTEXT #OT8 #HAIL SATAN
> 
> bowlingforgerbils said: We’ll, now there’s a kink I didn’t know I liked. Good job!
> 
> halibaal said: ffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffokaygoodnight internet i am slain *rolls away steaming*


End file.
